


You consume my every thought, waking and in sleep.

by BanyanIndigo



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Build, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29750055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanyanIndigo/pseuds/BanyanIndigo
Summary: Neal and Peter leave the office early after both coming down with a strange flu-like illness. upon arriving at the Burke residence, they find El with the same symptoms. symptoms that seem to ease when all three of them are together. how strange.Chapter 1/?
Relationships: Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke, Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Comments: 14
Kudos: 8





	You consume my every thought, waking and in sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired by Bonded by Creej :)
> 
> also, this is only the first chapter, not the entire work. not sure why i cant change the display number. 
> 
> hope you enjoy.

Neal stood in front of the mirror. He straightened his silk tie, smoothing out his jacket over his torso. Today was just another day at the office, but he was in a bad mood, and looking good never failed to brighten his day, even if it was only a little. Finally, his hat, covering his slightly unruly curls that he didn’t have time to fix. Walking to the FBI building felt like it took even longer than usual, he’d slept terribly, and the cold autumn air cut right through his wool coat, amplifying his discomfort and irritation. 

“Morning.” Peter barely looked up at him from over an open file. 

He didn’t respond, turning on his heel to go back down to his desk. He’d wanted to ask Peter about going to a Goya exhibition at the Met over the weekend, but his head was pounding, he was exhausted, and uncharacteristically, he was angry. 

Somehow, he knew Peter wouldn’t even let him explain why he wanted to go before rejecting the idea, and it made him feel like a child, having to ask an obstinate parent for permission he would never be able to earn. 

Slumping into his desk chair with a sigh, his fingers itched to remove his hat, just to relieve some of the pressure building in his temples, but he couldn’t bring himself to reveal his unkempt hair to the aggravatingly boring room. 

He pulled a random file from his desk, pretending to read it while bitching about Peter in his head. He could go to the bathroom to fix his hair, thus removing his hat, which was currently adding to his headache, but whenever he went to the bathroom Peter checked up on him, either by pretending to also use the bathroom or, far less subtly, texting him, and the thought was making him even more angry. 

Anger wasn’t an emotion he was familiar with internally. He didn’t feel this angry often, which meant he didn’t know what to do to fix it, never mind hide it. Seething behind a mortgage fraud file all day wasn’t exactly going to cut it. 

Something tinged at the back of his head, and moments later Peter cleared his throat, pulling Neal out of his head. He hadn’t seen Peter coming, at least, he didn’t think he had, but the older mans arrival hadn’t startled him. 

“Have you heard about that Goya exhibition at the Met?” Peter asked, eyebrows furrowing. 

That was a coincidence. 

“Yes. I wanted to go this weekend.” He knew he sounded clipped, but something felt very wrong, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to punch Peter or go puke. 

“Well why don’t you go then. We don’t have any big cases right now and,” Peter trailed off, scratching the back of his neck, eyes squinting. “I figured you should get to go.”

That was not at all what he expected. 

“Wow. Thanks Peter.” He attempted one of his dazzling smiles, hoping it wasn’t falling flat. 

Peter nodded, turning to walk away. 

“Actually,” Neal said, watching Peter stall right before he spoke. “I’m not feeling really good.”

“You need to go home?”

He thought for a second, dreading another walk home. “No I don’t think so. But maybe you could drive me home tonight?”

“Sure.”

Peter did walk away then, as a wave of intense nausea hit Neal. He stood, feeling the floor sway beneath his aching feet. The bathroom felt like it was miles away, he hoped he wasn’t staggering like he felt. Relief hit him as he locked the stall door behind him and kneeled on the tiles, huddled over the toilet. For as much as he would like to be horrified at the thought of clutching onto a public toilet, the cold porcelain soothed his stomach and his head, and that was all that mattered to him. He tried not to think about how disgusting it was that his forehead was resting against the seat. 

Nothing happened. His stomach was still turning, but the nausea was slowly getting less urgent, and it soon became clear that his knees were beginning to hurt. 

Standing up, and leaning against the stall divider, he took a few deep breaths, exhaustion becoming his number one concern. He was about to fall asleep right there, his eyes slipping shut, sleep dragging at his mind. 

The flu didn’t feel like this, and even an occasional migraine couldn’t compare with the intense feeling of “somethings wrong” coursing through his system. He considered asking Peter to take him to the ER, a bead of sweat trailed over his cheek despite a chill raking him. 

The bathroom door creaked open and one of the sinks began to run, the quiet noises of someone rinsing something filtered into the stall. 

“Neal?”

Oh great Peter was already here. 

“Yeah?” His voice kinda warbled. 

Peters shoes stopped right outside the stall door. 

“I’m not feeling too good, I can’t drive you home tonight, I think I’ve got to leave now.” He sounded tired, just like Neal was feeling. 

“Funny you should say that.”

Unlocking the door, he looked at Peter. His own exhaustion was mirrored in the older mans eyes, bloodshot and glassy. They must have made an interesting sight. 

Neither man moved for several minutes, leaning up against different sections of the cool metal stall. 

“I take it you’re feeling what I’m feeling?”

“What like a jackhammer is attacking the inside of my skull? Or maybe you mean the fact that I’m falling asleep in the public restroom.” Neal laughed a little as he spoke, he got a mental image of the two of them asleep on the tiles. 

Surprisingly, Peter laughed too, just a little. Maybe he found Neals jackhammer comment funny. 

“Well looks like both of us could use some rest.” Peter ran his hand through his lightly damp hair. He must have washed his face in the sink, Neal thought. 

“Want me to drop you off on my way home?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They walked to Peters car, bumping into each other every few steps. 

“Sorry, I’m really lightheaded,” Neal pointed out by the eighth time they’d collided. 

“Yeah, no. I’m not feeling great either.” The older man didn’t look too bad, but if Neals swimming vision was any indication, he shouldn’t be driving. “Are you gonna be good to drive?” His feet sluggishly avoided tripping over themselves. “Yeah.” Alright, so he wasn’t big on talking right now. That’s fine. Neal could deal with grumpy Peter. They turned the corner and headed into the elevator, and as it began the long journey down he moved a step closer to Peter, leaning his head against the taller mans shoulder. He didn’t even register Peters reaction, if he had one, because the combination of the elevators movement and his heads sudden change in direction resulted in the whole room spinning out of control. 

“Neal, look at me.”

He was looking. Except, the angle was all wrong. He was looking up at Peter from the elevator floor. 

“You collapsed, can you stand up so I can get you to the car?”

He tried to nod, but that movement made his head spin again. “Yeah, I’m good.” Peter hauled him up, keeping one arm around his waist. He couldn’t have been out for long, the elevator lights signaled that they had just now reached the basement. Leaning in to Peters slightly more sturdy frame, they walked to the car, and Neal breathed a sigh of relief at sitting down, his head throbbed at the thought of ever being in another elevator. 

Peter got out of the parking garage with surprisingly little issue, merging into NYC traffic. His face was scrunched up in concentration, and he nearly ran a red light, but aside from that they made it several blocks in silence. 

His head was splitting. Something was very wrong, and looking at Peter, he wasn’t feeling much better, a bead of sweat slid down the older mans face. Neal wracked his brain fro anything that might make him feel better, and that’s when it hit him. 

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you take me to your house?”

“You think seeing El is going to help.”

Peter didn’t say that like a question. Because it wasn’t. Whatever was afflicting them would be at least partially solved by seeing Elizabeth. And they both knew it. The drive was excruciatingly long, but something in him felt better the closer they got to their destination. 

The wind picked up around them as they exited the car, walking the short distance to the front door. He stood up a little taller with each step, and it didn’t escape his notice that Peter looked less groggy too. 

“El? I’m home.” Satchmo greeted them, his tail wagging happily. 

“Hon?” Elizabeth walked into the living room as Neal sat on the couch, her hair up in a bun, a robe tightened around her waist. “What are you guys doing here so early?”

“We weren’t feeling well and,” Peter paused, Neal noticed his eyes darting between himself and El. 

“I wasn’t either, but right before you got home I started to feel better,” She trailed off as well, taking a seat across from the couch. 

It seemed they all had the same experience. And, as weird as that was, Neal wanted sleep more than anything in that moment. 

“Could I lay down?” 

They looked at him, both of their faces expressing a similar level of concern. 

“Of course. You know where the guest room is. or,” El paused for a second. “You’re more than welcome to lay down in our room.”

He only nodded, climbing the stairs with some effort and venturing down the hallway. He considered going down to the guest room, but the door to the master bedroom was open, the light blue comforter looking soft and inviting. 

Looking at it, he wanted nothing more than to lay in that spot. 

Over the duvet was a light grey blanket, folded at the foot of the bed. He skimmed his fingertips over the soft material. Removing his hat and tie and placing them on the nightstand, he pulled back the covers, enjoying the light crinkling it made beneath his hand. He couldn’t remember who’s side of the bed this was, but it didn’t matter as he climbed in, rearranging the pillows to prop up his still aching head. He hadn’t bothered to close the door, and snippets of quiet conversation ghosted up the stairs and into the room. 

“Very, right?” Peter said, Satchmo’s collar making a light ringing. 

Elizabeth said something he couldn’t hear, and the sounds of wind and traffic from outside drowned out any further conversation as he drifted off to sleep. 

Drowsily he removed his socks, settling back into the soft bedding and letting sleep consume him.

**Author's Note:**

> if youve read any of my other stuff you know i dont edit,,, at all,, and also tend to write late at night. so please forgive me for any mistakes. comments and kudos are appreciated :)


End file.
